


A Method of Annullment

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-08
Updated: 2006-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about a Pensieve is that it can both mask and reveal, depending on the time of day. Memory is always a tricky one, after all: look too closely and you'll start to doubt what you see.</p><p>~6,500 words. NC-17. Bestiality, rough sex, voyeurism, light bondage, mindfuckery. See notes. Written for the 2006 Snupin Santa fest. November 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Method of Annullment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rexluscus](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rexluscus).



> Written for rexluscus at the 2006 snupin_santa exchange, who wanted darkfic, bottom!Snape, indifferent!Lupin, humiliation, unrequited feelings, hate-sex, angry-sex, and werewolf bestiality. Many thanks to islandsmoke for the beta work, and to busaikko and cordelia_v for the last minute handholding.

The Shrieking Shack was creaking.

Floorboards protested, paint peeled off the walls, and wind whistled through the ceiling. It smelled slightly of rot, like wet leaves or dead mice. It was winter, it was cold, and the two naked people on the lurching bed could not have cared less.

The one with long black hair was on his knees, pale wrists reflecting the outside light where they were bound to the bed post. He was nearly eighteen, wiry, and had ribs sticking out on his back. He rocked back and forth, his hair obscuring his face but his low grunts and his rigid red cock evidence enough that he had no objection to the proceedings.

The other one, with shorter, lighter hair, was also on his knees. He too was nearly eighteen, though he had a thicker build and a hairier torso. He gripped the other man's hips in his large hands and _pushed_, his cock sliding in and out of the other's body with a grunting rhythm. The stale air heaved around them, puffing in icy clouds out of their mouths as their bodies rocked together, harsh and desperate as though neither of them could wait to get it over with.

The bed thumped, the windows frosted over, and the two men came with low, suppressed groans, stilling for a moment before collapsing onto the dusty sheets in exhaustion. The dark-haired one slid out of his bonds and rubbed his red wrists before turning to scowl at the other man.

"Were the bonds really necessary, Lupin," he said angrily without moving from the bed.

The one called Lupin rolled his eyes and shifted in the tangled sheets, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before answering with a simple word. "Yes."

*

 

Snape pulled himself back out of the Pensieve with such force that he landed in his empty dormitory on his back. His hands shook and his breath came in staccato huffs. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and stared at the swirling bowl.

That was _not_ his memory.

* * *

 

_"Come on, you fuck. You got the spell or not?" _

_"Shut it, Prongs. Would I have hauled you down here in the middle of the night if I didn't have the spell? Stupid tosser."_

_"Fuck you. And get off my fucking foot."_

_"Oh, so _my_ arse can be hanging out the back of the Cloak and get caught down here?"_

_"Just hurry up, Padfoot. These dungeons are creepy. You sure you can get that Pensieve out of Sniv's room?"_

_"What the fuck's up with all the questions? I told you I could do it, so I can do it, all right?"_

_"Fine, just–"_

_"Fucking Snivellus and his fucking Dark Arts, and my stupid cunt brother following him around like he's a god… He's not going to know what hit him after this, Prongs."_

_"If it works."_

_"It'll work! God, just shut up about it. Come on, I can see the door…"_  
  


* * *

 

Of all the objects Snape should never have brought to Hogwarts, his mother's Pensieve was really at the top of the list. It was smaller than most, only the size of a dinner plate, and its colour was a murky yellow instead of the usual marble white. Just one more second-hand ware from the family's non-existent fortune, he thought bitterly.

"Take it, Severus," his mother had implored him after Christmas holidays the year he turned sixteen. "Keep it at Hogwarts with you so your father doesn't find it. He wouldn't know how to use it, but he'd know how to take it to someone who does! I've got the number of my Gringotts account in it, do you understand me? If anything happens to me, don't let your father have it."

Snape had frowned at her, but took the ruddy thing anyway. So much melodrama at home, with his mother's constant hysterics. Best to just do what she said and not ask questions.

He didn't mean to start using it as often as he did, but then again, he'd accumulated a few too many secrets over the past few years and needed a safe place to store them. There was his mother's Gringotts number, of course, but also far more exciting things, in his opinion: the first time he successfully cast _Sectumsempra_, for instance, on Mulligan's pet rat, or that dinner at Lucius's place six months ago when the offer had first been placed on the table. Things like that.

He did not place sexual fantasies in the Pensieve.

It wouldn't take them, for one – there were other devices for storing such things, but more importantly, he had yet to generate one that he didn't want to immediately forget, tossing it right out of his head and spitting on it when it fell to the floor. Sexual fantasies denoted weakness, he knew that – especially the kind he tended to have. Lucius offered him girls all the time, even offered to pay for something extra if that was what Snape wanted – twins, or a leather whip, or even a ponyboy outfit. Snape always shook his head at these offers and scowled into his choking glass of whisky.

There wasn't much a girl in chains and nipple clamps could do for him when what he wanted involved a brown-haired Gryffindor with an unnaturally hairy chest and a cock so big that the bulge of it showed through his trousers. It was dirty, shameful, and humiliating, getting hard for a _werewolf_.

That sort of thing was nothing to store in a Pensieve. It was nothing to store anywhere, and as soon as Snape found himself thinking it, he promptly pulled out one of the magazines Lucius had given him and stared hard at the breasts poking up from the shredded pages.

* * *

 

_"Moony's going to fucking hang us for this, you know."_

_"Moony'll be fine. He won't even know. What, you want to volunteer? How about _you_ and Snivellus, eh Prongs?"_

_"Shut the fuck up. So, what if Sniv sees this thing in the bloody Pensieve and then goes off and rapes Moony or something, because he thinks they're already fucking?"_

_"He's not going to rape Moony. You're such a wanker."_

_"He might."_

"Snivellus?_ He's not going to say _anything_ to Moony about it! Look, do you want it to be realistic or what? He'd never believe it if it were you or me."_

_"But he'd believe he's fucked Moony? Come on, Padfoot!"_

_"You know he will. He's always watching him. And I told you, Moony'll never even know, but old Sniv'll go mad wondering about it. And anyway, after locking us out last full moon, Moony fucking deserves it."_

_"Yeah, all right."_

_"It'll be brilliant, Prongs, just wait."_  
  


* * *

 

Snape peered over the cracking bowl again and poked at the mist. It had to have been a mistake, that memory of him and Lupin. One of his rotten fantasies had slipped in when he was siphoning off something else – a new spell, perhaps, or the name of that trader in Knockturn who offered him fresh Horntail blood in exchange for a weekend's work.

Various scenes swirled before him in miniature, appearing and disappearing as he sought his target. He gave it another stir with his wand, sending his mother's bank account number spinning away to the bottom, and squinted as a new possibility rose to the surface.

His mouth dropped open.

Minutes seemed to go by in frozen silence, the memory teasing him from the basin. It was the same as the last, he and Lupin rutting somewhere indistinct, but in a different position now. With his heart thudding in his chest, he bent forward and let himself fall through time until the memory solidified in the present surrounding him.

They were behind the greenhouses this time, with ivy snaking down the walls and overgrown grass forming a spongy bed around Lupin's feet and Snape's knees. From a short distance away, Snape watched in riveted horror as his memory self gripped Lupin's thigh with one hand and curled the other around his stiff cock, pushing him back against the wall and taking the thick length of it into his mouth. The dark head bobbed frantically, almost too quickly, small grunting sighs escaping the corners of the open mouth.

But Snape could only watch that dark head for a moment before his eyes moved upwards. He was much more interested in the reaction than the act itself.

Lupin's reaction, as it were, was muted at best. He stood stiffly, his arms at his sides and his fists clenched, studiously not touching the dark head at his waist. His face was furrowed in concentration and a hint of struggle. There was no pleasure there, only defiance, with his eyes screwed tightly shut and his lips pressed together in a thin line.

How romantic.

It was nearly impossible to tell the moment when he came, except for a tiny grunt that left his lips as they parted a fraction of an inch. On the ground, Snape's memory self stilled, pushing one hand gently up Lupin's shaft to milk the last remains of his release as Snape's throat worked steadily to swallow him. After a brief moment of calm, when the two of them remained in place and let their breathing return to normal, Snape pushed Lupin away and rose to his feet in one smooth movement.

Neither of them said a word as Snape stood before Lupin and looked at him, a blank, unreadable expression that even the Snape watching from the sidelines couldn't decipher. Then his memory self simply turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Lupin to stuff himself back into his trousers with frustrated determination.

Snape pulled himself out of the memory this time and frowned. Who could have done this? There was nobody at Hogwarts with the power to implant false memories into a Pensieve, and there was nobody outside Hogwarts with the incentive to do so – at least, not that he knew. Lucius seemed pleased with him, and his father (if his mother's letters were correct) never bothered to look for the thing anyway, and so had no idea Snape had it with him at Hogwarts.

There was only one other person who might have an explanation.

* * *

 

"Lupin," muttered Snape under his breath after Potions the next day, walking up behind the other young man. "A word."

Lupin turned in surprise, glancing at Snape with wary eyes. "Late for McGonagall," he said, shifting his book bag on his shoulder. "What do you want?"

His stupid friends were ahead of him and hadn't yet noticed Snape. "Meet me tonight," Snape said through a clenched jaw, aware of just how dodgy the request sounded.

Lupin's face melted from consternation to incredulity. "No," he said with a short laugh, as though Snape had asked him to do something utterly ridiculous, like show up to the next Quidditch match riding a camel, or answer only to the name _Hercules_ for the month of October.

Snape gritted his teeth. "Oh, I think you'll want to see this," he insisted, pouring his best oily voice forth and hoping it would be enough to stir Lupin's curiosity if nothing else. "Seventh-floor corridor after dinner."

Lupin hesitated for a moment, giving Snape a searching look. Then he just shook his head again with a smile and a roll of his eyes, turning and hurrying down the hall to catch up with his friends.

He showed up, though, walking stiffly down the hallway with his bag still over his shoulder as though the afternoon and dinner had never occurred, and Snape had only just spoken to him a moment ago to issue the invitation. He didn't say anything when he saw Snape leaning against the wall clutching a small package; he only approached Snape with cautious steps and then stopped in front of him, dropping his bag and giving Snape that same searching expression.

Snape unwrapped the Pensieve and paused for another moment before speaking. "Can you explain this?" he said, cursing himself the moment the words left his mouth.

Lupin gave him a surprised sort of grin. "Can I– it's a Pensieve, Snape. Of course I can explain it. Do you need help with your first-year homework?" He folded his arms over his chest, a puzzled look settling over his face. He was never as outright cruel as Potter and Black and even Pettigrew, but sometimes that was worse. A dozen of Potter's hexes had nothing on Lupin's calm indifference.

"Can you explain," repeated Snape with a scowl, "how memories got in here of…" He paused to swallow. "…you and I…" He stopped again and gestured helplessly with his hand before giving Lupin a pointed look.

"Of you and I… what?" said Lupin, staring back.

"Just– come look," said Snape irritably, bending to place the Pensieve on the ground.

"What? No," said Lupin. "I'm not going in there with you." He made to turn around and leave, but Snape grabbed his arm.

"You are going in there with me," Snape snarled, "and you are going to tell me why I have false memories of us _fucking_ in my Pensieve."

Lupin's eyes widened. "You– what?"

"You heard me."

Lupin eyed the Pensieve with a new look of curiosity and apprehension on his face. "What are you playing at?"

"You tell me," Snape retorted, and before Lupin could argue any further, Snape hauled him forward by the arm and dove into the swirling mist of the Pensieve, dragging Lupin with him.

* * *

 

_"He's going to know the memories aren't his, Padfoot!"_

_"Who cares? It'll still drive him nuts trying to figure it out, right? Besides, gives us practice for the Charms N.E.W.T., eh?"_

_"Yeah, all right. But I don't think they'll ever ask us to produce a false memory for the exam."_

_"Ah, Prongs, you're going soft on me. Where's the Snivellus hate that used to flow so freely?"_

_"Fuck off, it's there! But come on, Evans is wearing the green jumper tonight, and I told her I'd be back to study with her."_

_"The one that hasn't fit her since fourth year?"_

_"Yep."_

_"All right, we'll hurry. Once we get the Pensieve, it won't take long…"_  
  


* * *

 

Snape and Lupin landed on the ground in a memory Snape had carefully selected for maximum impact. He'd perused them all by now – or, at least, as many as he could find lying loose in the mist – and there had to be dozens: Snape on his knees in the Shrieking Shack; on his back under the Quidditch stands; braced against a wall in an empty corridor. The only commonalities were that he always had Lupin's cock inside him somewhere – his mouth, his arse, his fist – and that they always walked away from each other afterward with barely a word. Certainly nothing that would help Snape explain where the memories had come from.

He chose this particular memory tonight because it was the one with the most words, and the one that subsequently puzzled him the most. Maybe it was the first one.

"When are you going to quit _looking at me_ like that?" an angry Lupin demanded in the memory, grabbing the front of Snape's robes and shoving him up against the tree. They were by the Lake at twilight, without a soul nearby.

"Like what, Lupin?" snarled Snape. "Like a filthy _werewolf_?"

"All the time, following me around and staring at me like I'm a freak of nature." Lupin tightened his grip in Snape's robe and shook him. "Stop it!" he shouted, his voice tight and foreign, as though raising it to that tone was unnatural to him. "You've had your revenge; you know all my secrets. Now just leave me the hell alone." He gave Snape one more shove against the tree before releasing him and backing away, wiping his hand on his robe.

But Snape couldn't leave him alone. There was more shouting, more shoving, and more anger than he had ever seen from Remus Lupin. Something about Snape's taunts riled him up like nothing else, apparently; all Snape had to do was mention the word _werewolf_ with a smirk firmly lodged on his lips and Lupin's fabled calm would begin to bleed away, dripping over his skin in thick rivulets as he turned on Snape and curled a fist into the collar of his robes.

This time, it happened against the tree, rough bark scraping Snape's arse as Lupin's cock pressed into his and they rubbed each other raw.

Beside him in the memory, the real Lupin turned pale as a ghost and stood stock still, his hands hanging low at his sides as he watched the scene in front of them. When it was over and the two young men had slumped against the tree, Lupin turned and glared at Snape. "I didn't do this," he said abruptly, turning to leave. "You're sick, Snape. I don't know what this is about, but we have_ never_ done that."

"I _know_ we've never done that!" Snape spat at him. "_You_ are supposed to tell me why _this_ is in my Pensieve, along with however many others!"

Lupin stopped. "How many?" he asked angrily.

"I don't know – I've seen dozens so far."

"_So far_?"

"I only found them a week ago," said Snape, folding his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders. This had been a mistake. Lupin was disgusted with him, nauseous and angry and _disgusted_ at the thought of letting Snape anywhere near his cock, or touching Snape himself. He scowled, feeling his face heat with embarrassment.

Lupin stared at him for a long minute, angry huffs of breath punctuating the silence, before he finally unclenched his jaw and spoke. "Show me the rest," he said flatly.

* * *

 

For three more nights, Lupin came back. Each time they watched another of the false memories in Snape's Pensieve, Lupin became increasingly quiet yet agitated. He shifted from foot to foot, crossing and uncrossing his arms over his chest, trying to watch with detached objectivity as his memory self pushed his cock down Snape's throat, or bent Snape over the bathroom sink, or spread Snape's thighs apart on the bed in the Shrieking Shack.

Each one began the same way, with an angry confrontation or a desperate Snape hurling elementary insults at Lupin to provoke a reaction. Sometimes it took longer for that reaction to occur than others; in some memories Lupin remained seethingly calm no matter what Snape said to him, only breaking at the mention of the _werewolf_, that secret word that was guaranteed to drive Lupin mad.

Then he would seize Snape by the collar or the elbow or the shoulder and shove him up against something hard – a tree or a desk or a wall. There was fire at those moments, the kind that could only be sparked by fury and the most passionate elements of hate, the kind that made Snape feel alive in ways nobody else could touch. Lupin felt it, too – Snape knew he did. He had to feel the same intensity, that same burn every time their bodies met in hard lines and angry hollows, teeth scraping and nails digging and blood rising to a crescendo.

Coming was the easy part after all that, just the natural release of a rage so raw, a rivalry that Lupin could spin so easily from benign to malevolent with the push of a single button – _werewolf_ – that Snape almost began to appreciate the rhythm of it, this macabre dance they performed. He loathed the way it electrified him.

On the fourth night, Snape took them to a memory deep in the Forest, where memory-Lupin had tied Snape's wrists above his head and wrapped the bonds around a tree. His clothes melted away with a single spell and he was left shivering against the rough bark, Lupin circling around him with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Behind a clearing some distance away, Snape glanced over to see Lupin pressing his hand to his groin as he watched the scene, rubbing his cock and sucking in a breath the second his memory self kicked Snape's legs apart and pushed inside, fucking him hard and deep against the tree while his arms stretched high over his head.

Lupin came in his trousers that night, Snape knew he did, though he didn't admit it. Snape heard the way his breath shifted even without watching. The stain was gone by the time they emerged from the Pensieve once more, and Lupin didn't mention it. He only headed down the hallway again, his jaw clenched.

"Fuck you, Snape," he muttered, striding away.

"Lupin," Snape called after him, cursing under his breath, "we still don't know where these images have come from."

Lupin stopped and turned around. "I don't care, Snape," he said. "I don't know what you've done, but I'm not watching any more of this."

Snape strode towards him and pushed him up against the wall. "If your little friends got a hold of my Pensieve," he whispered harshly, the spittle flying in Lupin's face, "I will find out, and I will kill the lot of you."

"Kill?" Lupin gave a surprised laugh at that, low and cruel, before tossing Snape aside and straightening his robes. "You'll kill us, will you? For fucking with your Pensieve?" He snorted again and shook his head. "I hope they did," he spat.

_Almost there_, Snape thought, narrowing his eyes as he grabbed Lupin's arm again and shook him. _Almost angry enough_. "I know spells you've never even heard of in your nightmares," he snarled, but Lupin just shook his head again.

"So do they, Snape," he said quietly before correcting himself. "So do _I_." He paused to let his words sink in, his face inches from Snape's and his breath mixing hotly with Snape's as their nostrils flared.

Snape's lip curled up. "Of course," he said softly, "I should have known. A _werewolf_ would know all the best Dark spells, wouldn't he?" He waited, watching the blood drain from Lupin's face. "Like this one…" he added, and when Lupin tried to jerk his arm free from Snape's grip again he pounced, pushing Lupin back against the wall and crushing their mouths together.

_Oh, so fucking stupid_, he knew that, but the anger inflamed him and he couldn't stop. He bit at Lupin's mouth, pressing their lips together and pushing his tongue forward. _Bite it off_, he silently dared as Lupin struggled underneath him, clawing at his chest before his grip finally relaxed and shifted, no longer pushing Snape away but pulling him closer.

Lupin parted his lips and then his tongue was on Snape's, battling with harsh strokes and warm breath, the kiss a mash of teeth and lips and pressure, hands in hair now and around necks, pulling in and gasping and drowning and still _not close enough_. It was fast and frantic and left blood, Snape could taste it, rough and raw and more exhilarating than any of the memories they had watched.

With a great shove that landed Snape on the other side of the corridor, Lupin finally pushed him off, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and staring at Snape with fury, his eyes hooded and his mouth a thin line. "I am going to walk down that corridor," he said slowly, his voice low and harsh, "and _Obliviate_ myself."

Snape felt his skin heat as the anger blazed through him.

"And you'd better do the same," Lupin added. "Come near me again, and I'm the one who'll kill you." His voice was so quiet that Snape could barely hear him, but there was no doubting that he meant it. Or, at least, that he thought he did.

"There's one more," said Snape quietly, raising his chin. "One more you need to see."

Lupin stared at him. "No."

"One more, and it's over."

"No!"

"If you think you know everything about the werewolf," Snape said carefully, "you're wrong." A sliver of ice ran down Snape's spine, and he knew he was going too far. Lupin would never watch this.

But Lupin surprised him, and not for the first time. Snape should have figured out by now that the one thing Lupin both feared the most and understood the least was the wolf. He couldn't turn away without knowing. "Fine," Lupin agreed, stalking back over to the Pensieve with a grim face. "One more."

* * *

 

This time when they fell through the mist they landed off-balance in almost total darkness, the damp earth under their feet wafting up to Snape's nose. It was filthy, wet and muddy and with the same scent of decay as before – the last time he'd been here.

"The tunnel," whispered Lupin beside him, and Snape frowned, scanning the darkness for his memory self. When his eyes at last landed on a dark-haired young man walking slowly down from the light end of the tunnel, his stomach turned over. He'd only watched the beginning of this one before; he'd never followed it through, and now that he was here, he was terrified.

"No," he muttered, backing away. "This is not possible."

"Snape, what the _hell_?" Lupin demanded beside him, his voice low and fierce. "This is the– that's– I _know_ what's going to–"

"Where are you?" asked Snape, his eyes frantic in the dark.

"There," said Lupin, pointing a shaking hand to the opposite end of the tunnel from Snape's memory self, and Snape's blood boiled with fear. The dark-haired man was walking straight towards a fully-transformed werewolf.

"If I killed you," said Lupin slowly, his yellow eyes wide in the dark, "you wouldn't remember this."

Snape swallowed, suddenly aware that _killing_ was not at all what the werewolf had in mind. It had been a fantasy, a quick, dirty fantasy that he had only allowed himself to indulge in once, after that terrible night in this tunnel the year before. He'd looked at Lupin differently since then, eyed his body with new disgust, and found himself hard as a rock at the thought of submitting to the wolf's sexual desires. He closed his eyes.

"Snape!" whispered Lupin fiercely, grabbing his shoulders and hauling him around to face him. "I'm _not_ watching this! Your sick fantasies stop right now." But he quickly realised there was nowhere for him to go; until Snape pulled him out, he couldn't leave the memory. He grabbed Snape again, this time letting his fingers close around Snape's throat. "Take me out of here," he ordered, his voice quiet but firm.

Snape struggled against him, breathing hard through his nose. "No," he spat. "You have to watch what you did to me."

Lupin's eyes widened. "I don't have to do anything for you," he snarled. "Take me out."

"You asked to come."

"Take me out!"

"No!"

Lupin threw Snape face first against the tunnel wall and pressed his cheek into the rough rock. He bent in to whisper something else in Snape's ear, a new stream of vitriol, but at that moment they both saw that Snape's memory self had reached the end of the tunnel, approaching the werewolf where it stood eerily still, yellow eyes watching. Lupin's body stilled behind Snape.

All of a sudden the werewolf lunged forward with a harsh growl, tearing at the young man's shoulder and pushing him down to the ground. The young man stayed limp, rising slowly to his knees and pulling his robe over his head. He wore nothing underneath, his pale skin gleaming between black hair and black boots in the dark tunnel. The werewolf circled around him, each step light and deliberate, occasionally leaning its snout in to sniff at the young man's armpits or arse.

Against the wall, Snape felt Lupin's hot breath on his neck and his arms slacken where they had been pinning Snape down.

"Why is it so docile?" Lupin asked in wonder, his voice barely audible. "I should have killed you by now."

"Wants something else," Snape murmured, and to his horror, he felt his cock stir at the thought. "There's a potion… can tame a werewolf… didn't think it was available yet…" He stared, his mind racing. He was about to watch himself get fucked by Lupin in his werewolf form, and Lupin was going to watch right along with him. It was insane and terrifying and exhilarating, because Lupin was right about one thing: if Snape had died, he wouldn't have this memory.

The werewolf stopped circling. It sniffed at the air and in the silence that followed, Snape could hear the young man's breath coming in heavy bursts from under his curtain of hair where his head hung between his shoulders. His fingers clawed at the dirt as he struggled to keep himself calm while anticipating the werewolf's next move. The creature bent and nudged its nose between the young man's legs, licking at his balls and up the cleft of his arse. It shifted, raising its front paws to rest on the young man's back, and Snape saw the creature's erection filling the furry sheath under its belly.

Lupin must have seen it too, because he gasped into Snape's neck and resumed his grip on Snape's arms, holding him in place against the tunnel wall. "You can't take that," he murmured breathlessly, his eyes fixed on the werewolf. "It's too big."

Snape groaned softly at the thought, not even bothering to mask his arousal anymore. Although he'd had his fantasies, he'd had no idea he would enjoy being penetrated so much until watching these memories of Lupin fucking him, sliding his large cock into Snape's arse and pumping hard. Now, the thought of that thick werewolf prick doing the same thing filled Snape with an erotic sense of danger, the thrill of it overriding his fear. He was desperate to experience sex himself now after watching it so many times.

The werewolf was not in the mood for foreplay. It seemed to think that the initial licking it had done would provide sufficient lubrication, and it mounted the young man quickly, clawing at his back and stabbing its prick forward.

Snape and Lupin watched with wide eyes as the young man on the ground reached back to assist, spreading his arse wider to direct the werewolf's thrusts. When at last the creature found its target, the young man let out a long, pained groan and fell to his elbows in the dirt. The werewolf pressed forward, sheathing its long cock inside the pliant body.

As each inch disappeared, Snape felt his own cock harden in his pants and began gently rubbing it against the tunnel wall where Lupin held him. He desperately wanted to feel what his memory self felt at that moment, to submit to the wolf and face all his fears with that animal prick driving into him. He groaned as Lupin pressed in closer behind him, hot breath on his ear and fingers curled in the fabric of Snape's robes.

On the ground, the werewolf began fucking the young man furiously, thrusting in a tight, rapid rhythm that jarred Snape's senses to watch. His memory self only whimpered and grunted with each shove of the animal's cock into his arse, pushing back to meet it and trying to find a way to bear the animal's weight with only one hand on the ground while the other fisted his own cock.

Snape was just about to shove his own hand down his pants when all of a sudden, with a strangled cry behind him, Lupin released his grip on Snape's arms and dropped his hands to Snape's trousers, tearing violently at the fastenings until he could shove them down Snape's hips. He grabbed Snape's hard, leaking cock and squeezed it roughly, making Snape's knees buckle against the wall.

The werewolf grunted loudly, its claws scratching down the young man's back as Lupin lifted his hand away and fumbled with his own belt, cursing under his breath before wrapping an arm around Snape's waist. Snape heard him spit into his hand and saw out of the corner of his eye when Lupin dropped the hand again and slid it over his cock. A second later, Snape felt the blunt head of it pushing between his cheeks, and he moved his feet further apart in the dirt.

"You want that?" whispered Lupin in a low voice. "You want to get fucked by a wolf like that, Snape?" He was barely holding himself back, his wet cock lodged in the cleft of Snape's arse.

Snape said nothing, only pushing his hips back and letting his cheek scrape against the rough stone wall of the tunnel, his eyes fixed on the werewolf and the version of himself currently being used like a rag doll for the animal's pleasure. _I want you_, he didn't say, closing his eyes at the first press of Lupin's cock against his arsehole. Lupin's hot breath hit his ear in a slow exhale as he pushed inside, and Snape was surprised to find it didn't hurt as much as he thought it might. He had Lupin's cock in his arse, feeling that deep penetration while watching a werewolf cock fuck his other self hard and fast, and the entire situation was so awful and wrong and utterly _made_ of all his fantasies that he wasn't sure he'd last three strokes without coming.

Lupin fucked him hard, but Snape could tell that his eyes were on the wolf. He matched every thrust the creature made, both of them pushing into the bodies beneath them as black hair hung limp and muted moans filled the tunnel. On the ground, Snape's memory self came with a shattered cry, his forehead hitting the dirt as he collapsed forward with white coating his blackened hand. The wolf seized him by the shoulders and went rigid soon after, and Snape felt Lupin push in deeper behind him, desperate to come at the same time as the animal.

Snape had time to only vaguely wonder about wolf physiology, and whether his other self was currently writhing on the tunnel floor from the slowly expanding knot inside his arse at the base of the werewolf's prick. He let out a low groan at the very thought of it, reaching down to tug at his own cock as Lupin shoved in hard. He muttered a stream of curses under his breath, and Snape knew Lupin didn't want to be here, didn't want to be doing this, didn't want to be _watching_ this, but the wolf would not be denied.

That was exactly what Lupin hated. Snape had figured out that much.

There was a shout behind him and Lupin stilled, his hips pushed flush against Snape and his cock pulsing inside Snape's body, filling his arse with come. The sensation of it was overwhelming, combined with the sight of the werewolf still lodged inside the young man on the ground, whimpering and writhing, and Snape could only sag against the wall and let his own release wash over him at last, spurting over his hand and coating the black stone in front of him.

Lupin gripped at his robes as he came, pulling them down over his shoulder with the fabric clenched in his fist, and at the first feel of breath on the skin, Snape knew what he would find there. With a strained gasp, Lupin pulled out roughly and too quickly, a trembling hand fumbling with his trousers as his breath came in short huffs. "Get me out of here, Snape," he said in a warning voice as he backed away. "Get me out of here _now_."

Snape turned his head as far as he could to the side and dropped his shoulder, struggling to see. He could just barely make it out, etched down his back: three long scratches that glowed an angry red. Shivering, he turned back around, wiped his hand on his trousers and hauled them back up over his hips, then grabbed Lupin's arm and pulled them out of the Pensieve. They landed back in the seventh floor corridor with a thud, clothes neatly rearranged and no trace of the entire episode left on either of them.

Lupin was in a rage, pointing a shaking finger at Snape. "Is this it, then? You've set up some hologram charm to turn me into a werewolf, make me do things like that?"

Snape stared at him.

"Fuck you!" he shouted, turning to bang his fist into the wall. "I am _not_ that wolf, and if you think you can humiliate me by making me watch that, making me believe I would _do _that…" He paused, shaking his head and trying to calm his breathing before turning and setting off down the hall. "Don't you ever come near me again," he spat over his shoulder.

Flattened against the wall, his chest heaving and his mind spinning, Snape raised his wand in fury before he could even think of what he was doing. Remus Lupin would not walk away from him. Remus Lupin would not claim that _he_ was the one who had been humiliated. He aimed at Lupin's back and whispered a single word.

"_Obliviate_."

Lupin stumbled, paused, and then continued down the hall with much less visible anger in his step. His blood still pulsing with fury and loathing, and with the vision of the werewolf still throbbing in his head, he turned the wand on himself and whispered the word once more.

That memory never made it into the Pensieve.

* * *

 

The thing about a Pensieve is that it can both mask and reveal, depending on the time of day. Memory is always a tricky one, after all: look too closely and you'll start to doubt what you see.

*

 

_"All right, keep the Cloak over me, I've got to concentrate."_

_"Hurry up, Padfoot, I think I hear something."_

_"Yeah, yeah. All right. _Accio_, Snape's Pensieve!"_

"Accio?_ That was your great idea for getting the thing out here?"_

_"What?"_

_"What? Padfoot, you can't _Accio_ a Pensieve, you fuck!"_

_"Shut up! Why not?"_

_"Sixth year Charms, remember? What are the three things you can't _Accio?"

_"That's bollocks. I don't remember anything about–"_

_"I don't _fucking_ believe this! You can't _Accio_ buildings, people, or memories, you stupid fuck. _This_ was your great idea for–"_

_"Shhh! Fuck, someone's coming!"_

_"God, I hate you sometimes. Come on, you run like a girl. You want Filch's boot up your arse?"_

_"Fuck off."_

_"You fuck off. Come on, let's get out of here."_

 

FIN


End file.
